A Winter of Ghosts (The Waking Series)

by Christopher Golden, Thomas Randall

  Monju-no-Chie school stood on a slight hill which sloped downward to the shore of Miyazu Bay. Sakura stuck close to the line of trees at the edge of the school's property as she walked down to the water, passing the place where — more than a year before — students had made a different kind of shrine to remember her sister.

  Akane had been murdered right here on the shore. Sakura could not walk down to the bay — or even glance at this spot — without picturing the savage beating that the police said her sister had received. Akane had been forced under the water, drowned right here. And yet it had never occurred to Sakura's parents the torment to which they consigned her, leaving her at this school, where she would run this hideous scenario through her mind every single day.

  Not that she would have wished to go elsewhere. Sakura felt at home here, and loved her friends. But Akane's murder always felt fresh to her, no matter how much time had passed. She had let go of the rage toward her sister's killer, helped by the fact that Ume was no longer at Monju-no-Chie school, but she had not forgiven the girl, and never would. And her sorrow remained.

  Yet she alone, among all of her friends, had not seen a ghost.

  Sakura took out a cigarette and lit it. The tip flared a bright orange and then dimmed to an ember's glow. She drew smoke into her lungs and then exhaled, smoke mixing with the mist of her warm breath in the cold air.

  "Are you there?" she said, speaking softly in the dark.

  The only answer came from the lapping of the bay upon the shore. No ghosts revealed themselves to her.

  It didn't seem fair.

  Hachiro had never been so cold.

  He huddled on the ground with his knees drawn up beneath him, his back against a thick tree trunk. Twice during the long afternoon he had found the strength to force himself to his feet and he had tried to run, but both times she had caught him. Her touch had been as light as a breeze, but it froze him rigid, as though ice had formed on his bones. In his mind he could picture ice floes forming on the surface of a river, the water slowing and then ceasing altogether, and he knew that she could have done the same to his blood.

  Winter had such beauty, and yet it could be fierce. Winter could kill so easily.

  The Woman in White had a touch of winter, but her gaze was far worse. It had drained his will, turned him into little more than a puppet, a marionette held up by icicle strings. Twice he had managed to summon enough willpower to break those strings, to attempt escape, but now he had used the last vestiges of that will, and the last of his hope.

  The tree against his back was the only thing he trusted, now. The only thing that did not seem intent upon making him suffer. The rest of the world was winter. Moonlight streamed through the bare branches above, making long finger-shadows that seemed to reach for him across the snow. His body felt stiff and if he shifted even an inch, his bones ached so much he feared the marrow had frozen. Hachiro felt brittle, as though a fall or a blow might shatter him.

  Safer, then, to stay right here.

  Hachiro's teeth chattered and his whole body shook from the cold. When he closed his eyes, the lids and eyelashes stuck together, threatening to freeze. His hair was frosted with ice, his pants covered with a coating of snow that clung to the fabric, almost as though the winter hoped to consume him, draw him down into the snow and make him a part of it forever.

  The night seemed to go on forever.

  He thought of his parents and wondered if he would ever see them again. In his heart, he knew the answer, and it filled him with grief, as much for them as for himself. He thought of Kara and knew that she must be terrified for him. Hachiro would have given anything to have been able to hold her, to touch her hair and whisper softly to her, to tell her it would be all right.

  But it wouldn't be.

  Even now, he could hear Ren crying, begging to be set free. Hachiro hated himself because he could not make his legs work, could not make himself stand and fight, could not save Ren from the Woman in White.

  She did not want Hachiro to watch. It had been she who placed him here, against this tree, facing into the woods and the cross-hatching of moonshadows that spread across the snow.

  Ren called his name.

  Hachiro closed his eyes, wishing he could close his ears as well, and his heart. Instead he forced himself to try again to move, and was surprised to find that he had the power to turn his head. A spark of hope rose within him and he took a moment to muster his strength and his courage before twisting around to see, to help. But as he tried to get his feet beneath him, his body would not obey him. The Woman in White had sapped his will and the cold had sapped his strength. He realized that he could no longer feel his feet, or his lower legs. His hands were like clubs, no longer even connected to his body.

  He lay on his side in the snow, unable to move even to lift himself into a sitting position again. He managed to twist his head to keep his face out of the snow, and there in the moonlight and winter shadows, he saw the Woman in White. Her beauty stole his breath away.

  She stood just a few feet away from Ren, who floated above the ground, tossed to and fro by the winds that she controlled. Snow whipped at him, turning him round and round, toying with him. Hachiro had thought of himself as a marionette, but the Woman in White had turned Ren into a real puppet, and now she made him dance even as she caressed him with the wind and the snow at her command.

  "Beautiful," she whispered. "So beautiful."

  Hachiro closed his eyes and the icy grip of winter carried him down into the darkness.

  On Tuesday morning, Kara woke to the sound of the doorbell. She squinted against the sunshine that flooded through her window as she dragged herself out of bed, and when she looked outside and saw the lovely, gauzy blue sky, a terrible guilt descended upon her. How could she have slept so soundly, so well, when Hachiro might be dead? He might be frozen, like Sora, still lost upon that mountain, and she had managed a wonderful, restorative sleep without a single nightmare.

  She leaned her forehead against the window, staring out at the bay across the street, and the cold glass numbed her skin. Sadness threatened to overwhelm her. She could so easily crawl back into bed and succumbed to her fear for Hachiro and her guilt at leaving him behind.

  But he would still be lost.

  No, something had to be done. A glance at the clock told her it was just after eight o'clock. Searchers would already be starting up the mountain, spreading out, looking behind every tree and in every hollow. The urge to be among them, to be up on that mountain looking for him herself, was powerful. But if she believed there was something other than nature at work here — and she could not deny it seemed probable — then the best way for her to help him was to figure out what, exactly, that might be, and figure out how to combat it.

  When impossible things had first begun to happen to her — terrifying, supernatural things — she had felt more alone than she ever had before. But slowly others began to get involved, to learn the truth, and now Kara did not have to face this by herself.

  Pulling on a robe, she left her bedroom. In the kitchen she found her father and Miss Aritomo embracing, Yuuka's cheek pressed against his chest as if she were listening to his heartbeat. Kara froze, hating to disturb their intimacy, but as she began to take a step backward a creaking floorboard gave her away and her father looked up.

  "Good morning, sweetheart," he said, as he and Miss Aritomo broke their embrace.

  "Sorry to interrupt," Kara said sheepishly.

  "You're not interrupting," Yuuka said, smiling. "You live here, remember?"

  Kara returned her smile. Once she had thought of Miss Aritomo as an intruder, but now she liked it when she was with them. Kara knew she would never be able to think of Yuuka as her mother, even if her father ended up marrying her, but she felt a certain comfort when the three of them were together. It felt like family.

  They had breakfast together and Kara helped them clean up afterward. By the time she had showered, dressed, and dried her hair, Mr. Yam
ato had arrived and Miho and Sakura were both there, helping to set out cups for tea. In the eyes of her friends she saw her own fears reflected back at her. They were all suffering from frayed nerves, and so there was little of the usual polite chatter as they waited for the final attendee to arrive for the meeting Mr. Yamato had called.

  After the events the past spring that had led up to Kara and her friends being cursed by Kyuketsuki, she had been astounded by the utter incompetence of the Miyazu police. They seemed to have an absurd explanation for every inexplicable thing and to willfully ignore any information that would have cast those explanations in doubt. Only after their encounter with the Hannya in the early fall did she realize that the police were not stupid, they were simply deceitful.

  The Miyazu police had understood that supernatural forces were at work in their city, and they had worked to cover it up as completely as possible, swearing to secrecy everyone involved with Monju-no-Chie school who knew anything about it. And Mr. Yamato had supported those efforts completely. They police did not want to terrify the people unnecessarily, or to lose face by publicly acknowledging something that many would never believe, and for which they would be mocked without mercy. Mr. Yamato merely wanted to make sure the parents of his students did not panic and withdraw their children from the school.

  As long as there was no danger, they demanded silence and secrecy.

  But now Sora was dead, and Mr. Yamato was no fool. The boy had been frozen solid in the middle of a freak snowstorm, and there had been talk of ghosts, which must have gotten back to him as well. Kara assumed her father had told the principal about the ghosts. They had all vowed to inform him and the police if they encountered anything remotely supernatural, anything that might indicate that Kyuketsuki's curse had drawn yet another evil entity to Miyazu City.

  And now . . . ghosts.

  At half past nine, on the dot, the doorbell rang. Her father answered the door and led the policeman into the dining room to join them. Tea had not yet been served; they had been waiting upon this grim man. They had all met Captain Nobunaga before, but he did not greet them as friends. The policeman gave them a small, formal bow and waited to be invited to sit. His uniform was crisp, his graying hair clipped short, and his lips seemed eternally pursed in an expression of disapproval. He and his colleagues in the Miyazu City police department did not enjoy having any open discussion of such things as ghosts and curses, which was likely why the meeting was being held here, in the Harper home, and why the captain had come alone.

  Over tea, the girls told the story of the previous day's storm. Kara told Captain Nobunaga what Hachiro had told her about seeing Jiro's ghost, and about the apparition of Sora that she and Miho had seen on the mountain the day before, and how she had been certain that the boy was dead, even then. Though she felt embarrassed at showing the depth of her feelings for Hachiro in front of the principal and the policeman, she revealed her belief that Hachiro and Ren were alive. If they were dead, she suspected that their ghosts would have appeared as well.

  Miho related the news that Wakana believed she had seen Daisuke's ghost on the mountain, just before the storm. Sakura remained strangely quiet during all of this storytelling, but when Kara shot questioning glances in her direction, she only nodded for them to continue.

  When all of the tales had been told, that shifting, nervous silence returned to the house. No one seemed to want to begin to dissect what they had learned or to be the first to suggest explanations. Captain Nobunaga glanced around at each of them in turn, letting his gaze linger on Kara for a moment, and then he turned to Mr. Yamato.

  "Has anything happened to directly link these 'ghosts' — if that is what they were — to the curse of Kyuketsuki?" the policeman asked, his words clipped and sharp.

  Mr. Yamato gave a single shake of his head. "No."

  "Not yet," Miss Aritomo added, her voice firm.

  Kara loved her for that. The police were so used to denying things they did not want to have to deal with, but Yuuka had no intention of letting the captain explain this all away.

  "With all due respect, Captain," her father added, "you asked us to keep you informed whenever anything . . . unnatural . . . occurred."

  Captain Nobunaga nodded. "Yes, Harper-san. But other than these 'ghost sightings,' there is no indication that anything supernatural is at work here. The young man, Hachiro, saw a boy who looked like his dead friend on the train. He was apparently half-asleep at the time."

  "But Kara and Miho both saw —" Sakura started, angrily.

  Mr. Yamato shot her a hard look that silenced her. Her rudeness reflected poorly on him as her school principal, whether the captain had earned it or not.

  "They were and exhausted and already had the suggestion of ghosts in their minds from the story Hachiro had told them," the policeman said. Then he waved a hand in the air as though erasing the words. "I assure you, I am not entirely discounting the possibility of a supernatural explanation for all of this. I simply think we cannot assume one exists without further exploration."

  "What of the storm?" Professor Harper asked. "I know that violent changes in weather and freak storms are not unheard of, but those of us who were on the mountain yesterday felt something."

  Kara shot her father a look. This was new information. He must have talked to Mr. Yamato and Miss Aritomo about it, but had not mentioned it to her. Protecting me, she thought, both loving him for it and frustrated with him at the same time.

  "A feeling is not evidence, Harper-san," Captain Nobunaga said. "And even if the girls did see ghosts, that does not mean that what happened on the mountain is supernatural. The boys were lost in a blizzard. The one you have found, Sora, is already the second to die in such a fashion this winter."

  Kara realized he was talking about the woman who had frozen to death in the first storm of the season. She glanced at Miho and Sakura and saw that they had both reacted to the captain's words.

  "Could her death be related?" Kara asked.

  "How do you mean?" the policeman said.

  Mr. Yamato quietly cleared his throat. "Captain, it does seem a bit unusual. I have lived in Miyazu City for a quarter century and have never heard of anyone freezing to death in a snowstorm, on a mountain or otherwise."

  The principal glanced at Miss Aritomo. "Some of us have encountered demons before. That is why we are here together now, after all. And there are winter demons, are there not? Spirits of ice and snow?"

  Miss Aritomo began to nod, and then her eyes widened.

  "What is it, Yuuka?" Kara's father asked worriedly.

  The woman's gaze dropped. "I can't believe it didn't occur to me before," she said, and then looked up at Mr. Yamato. "But you've already guessed, haven't you?"

  The principal cocked his head, studying her. "There are many different legends, stories about various spirits. But I was thinking of one in particular, yes. These boys have gone missing in a snowstorm. How could I not think of the childhood stories I read about Yuki-Onna?"

  Kara frowned. She had never heard the name before. But it seemed obvious to her that Sakura and Miho knew it well. They looked confused and then almost amused.

  "Yuki-Onna is only a story," Sakura said.

  "So was the Hannya," Mr. Yamato replied.

  Kara thought they all shuddered at that.

  "What is Yuki-Onna?" she asked. "I don't . . . can one of you tell me, please?"

  To her surprise, it was her father who spoke. "I've read the story, or one version of it, at least. Yuki-Onna is the Lady of the Snows. She's sometimes referred to as a witch or a demon —"

  "Like in The Snow Queen," Kara said.

  "She is a popular figure in Japanese stories," Miss Aritomo said, her eyes haunted, her face pale, as though she might be sick at any moment. "But my favorite version of her tale is one of the rarest, an ancient story in which a woman is killed by the winter's first snow —"

  Kara gasped. "Oh my God."

  Miss Aritomo nodded and went on. " — and
the spirit of winter joins its essence with the ghost of the dead woman, inhabiting her corpse and transforming it from within to become Yuki-Onna, the Lady of the Snows. The Woman in White."

  They were all staring at her as if entranced, and Kara realized that none of them had known this variation on the legend.

  The policeman broke the trance, rising quickly to his feet. He pulled out his cell phone and hit a single button, speed-dialing.

  "This is Captain Nobunaga. Send someone to the family grave of Etsoku Reizei immediately," he said into the phone, turning to regard the others in the room. Kara thought even the captain's eyes look haunted.

  "Why?" he said. "Tell him I want to know if the urn containing her ashes is still there."

  Chapter Seven

  Mr. Sato had spent his entire life striving for an inner peace and balance that would make his parents proud. At forty-seven years of age, he had found purpose in moderation and attempted to be a model of tranquility and proper behavior for his students. Once, several years before, he had overheard two students conversing about him; one of them had remarked that he was as difficult to fluster as the guards at England's Buckingham Palace. Though they had been mocking him, there had also been a sense of wonder in their voices, and he had been proud of that. The best way to lead, he had always believed, was by quiet example.

  It was a very good thing his students were not with him on Takigami Mountain this morning.

  His feet still hurt from the frigid temperatures and hours of searching from the previous day. He had not been dressed warmly enough for the blizzard and its aftermath and the cold had gotten down into his bones and made him exhausted. Today he had thought ahead and dressed in many layers, including a thick green sweater and a heavy winter jacket he had borrowed from a cousin who was fond of snow sports.